


Order Vynyan [The Rewrite]

by Diodol



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cranky Ratchet, Mental Abuse, Multi, Order Vynyan, Physical Abuse, Ratchet is always cranky, Romantic endeavors, Survival is more than a game, Turning a new leaf, Ultra Magnus is an ass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9285683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diodol/pseuds/Diodol
Summary: Order Vynyan was once only a contingency plan, created by Cybertronian warriors of old. To the future generations it became only speculation and myth, but one warrior chose to bring it to life. Even after a score of Autobot cadets went missing, still no one was any wiser to his ploy. Eons later, in the 21st century, the aftermath of his choices remain.Despite all her scars, both new and old, Splitwing has survived. She has found her way to earth and finds herself facing new trials and old foes. Her new mission? Not just to survive; to thrive.





	1. Prologue

_Order Vynyan_ was once only a contingency plan, created by Cybertronian warriors of old. To the future generations it became only speculation and myth, but one warrior chose to bring it to life. After a score of Autobot cadets went missing, still no one was any wiser to his ploy. Eons later, in the 21st century, the aftermath of his choices remain. Despite all her scars, both new and old, Splitwing has survived. She has found her way to earth and finds herself facing new trials and old foes. Her new mission? Not just to survive; to thrive. 

_PROLOGUE_

She was hurting. Her vocalizer processor was heavily damaged, ruined to the point of silence. Her chassis had been savagely ripped apart, leaving deep gouges to mar her smooth, dark grey chest plates. Certain circuitry in her right leg was beginning to short out--which was quite painful in and of itself--but in addition to that, each time the wires crossed or touched, sparks would fly and her leg would jerk violently in a range of motion it shouldn't have. It was causing severe strain to her joints and tensor cables.

All of her injuries included the compromising of corresponding energon lines, which while painful, were quite negligible to the searing throb in her chest. She was bleeding heavily from that wound. To add to the score, her communications antennae had been nearly torn from her head, which had severed the necessary components to send radio transmissions and an Autobot distress signal, resulting in her complete and total isolation in the middle of space. 

Just days beforehand, she had been in--mostly--fine shape when she'd intercepted the transmission signal from the planet Earth, from Optimus Prime. It had taken her a few moments of reprieve to gather her wits and stop the giddiness flowing through her veins before she had been able to respond to the call. 

Shortly after she spoke with Prime, her day took a turn for the worst. She was intercepted by Breakdown--a complete blockhead; all brawn, no brain--just passed the planet/not planet known as 'Pluto'. Being that she was much smaller, lighter, and not built to take such heavy hits, he easily had the advantage over her. However, since Splitwing had been sparked on the eve of war--barely half a century into her life the Decepticons destroyed Tyger Pax--she was quite skilled in the art of dodging. The action was pretty well all she had ever known, so meeting Breakdown was hardly any different, except she had no team for backup and no medic for repairs. 

After out-maneuvering the Decepticon, Splitwing made a mad dash to Earth, but she was not unscathed. She was leaking energon like an open tap and with her communications off-line, she would have to physically find the Autobots. 

If, of course, she didn't die from her wounds first.


	2. Topside

_Topside_  


Space was silent. Space was a soundless vacuum that no one would ever truly understand. It was a majestic sight, to see so many stars, but incredibly lonely. Each and every one far apart enough to be mere dots to each other, but so dense that they each felt the pull of gravity from the other.

Imagine the feeling of being slowly dragged together, only to explode in the most brilliant show conceivable. Was there any true purpose in life? Everything would have an end, some just more spectacular than others, but an end all the same. Why live-to die?

Why survive? The game of survival was so dreadfully brutal and gruesome that she wondered why it existed. What was the _purpose_?

Splitwing hadn't realized her thrusters were so damaged until she glanced at her internal speedometer. Her _usual_ cruising speed was more than double her current velocity. She felt the urge to sigh, but opening her vents to the harsh realities of space would only cause further damage to her internals.

To pass some of the time—without driving herself crazy with thoughts of existence—Splitwing listened to some records she'd kept of music files she had collected over her travels of space. Her absolute favourite was the harmonious lullabies she'd discovered on a thriving rock planet. Each colony she'd visited had their own version of the standard instruments, but she loved the lullabies from each one.

She had listened to the record thirty-eight times before she decided to switch it up.

Months later, time spent switching between music and recharge, Splitwing was close enough to Earth she could check out the World Wide Web. It was _fascinating_. These small creatures were so like and unlike her own kind that Splitwing was entirely captivated with their cultures and beliefs—so very many, there were!

One time she stumbled across a photo—on some social media site; there were countless numbers of those, too—that looked suspiciously like a bipedal Cybertronian. She had frowned and for a considerable amount of time she searched for other photos or posts that were relative to her race. She found little, but the odd chant about 'Are We Really Alone?' gave her the thought that the Autobots were living in secret.

So, she took it upon herself—something else to pass the time, and possibly to be a little bit of a shit-stirrer—to erase all data pertaining to Cybertronians

The day finally came when she broke Earth's atmosphere. Her spark burned with glee at the thought of finding some other bots—then it _burned_. The scorching heat nearly burned her up, and all her self-repair systems were too damaged to try to keep her cool. Under normal and _healthy_ circumstances, the entrance would have been simple and painless, but with all her exposed injuries there was no hope for such a thing. Her frame shuddered and shook from all the forces against her, fire licked at fragile circuitry and the energon still leaking from her wounds burned up in seconds.

When she hit topside, at last, she nearly entered stasis. She crashed through a small mountain—causing a rock slide—blew apart some foothills and finally came to rest in an old farmer's field.

It took her some time before she could transform, the usually fluid process slow and stilted. She groaned and laid quietly for a few moments to collect her thoughts, her chassis throbbing from the strain of re-shaping. She flexed her hands and with great care stood on shaky legs.

Inhaling a deep breath to cool everything off, Splitwing took in her surroundings. The field was a beautiful blue-green colour, the long stalks topped with small, hairy bulbs that she figured was wheat—from images she'd seen online.

The crop waved gently with a small breeze that blew through it, coming off the mountains in the near distance.

Splitwing grunted as her right hip sparked and her leg jerked outwards, pulling on sensitive cables. As she lost her balance, her knees buckled and she collapsed onto her hands. Her shoulders groaned and the rumpled remains of her chest armor clapped and clanked against her arms.

She blinked rapidly beneath her visor, trying to keep her visor's HUD online. It flashed and fritzed, turning to static and then an empty image of the ground below her. She growled in frustration and punched the dirt weakly.

_"What the hell?!"_

Splitwing froze. Her gears and joints locked in place with a series of quick clicks and some squealing of gears.

One of the humans had seen her. She lifted her head slowly.

There he stood before her; small and terrified. His body quivered in horror at the sight of Splitwing above him. It was clear he was struggling to withhold a scream; his lip trembling and his mouth gaping.

Splitwing had a split-second before the boy turned heel and ran, so she did the only thing she could think of. She plucked him right out the his seat within the tractor, wrapping her servos around him gently so as to not squish him, stood on her heel and sprinted away from the old white farm house she saw in the distance—she hoped that no one had seen her from there.

The boy shook harder in her grasp and started to swear. He couldn't seem to break free from the firm hold of a paralyzing fear, but he was certainly running his mouth.

She plowed through the fields, taking no notice to the destruction she left behind. Later she would double think her decision to run so mindlessly, but then she would reassure herself that her instincts would prevail; they usually did.

Splitwing jumped over a hill that came up to her waist and dove into the cover of the trees. The human screamed. She scrambled through the bush on her knees--her hip had given out--searching for suitable cover. Finally, she found a little rock cove that was large enough for her to crawl inside. It was made of large boulders that had crashed into one another centuries ago, forming an upside down 'V' shape.

Once Splitwing felt she was safe from view by a possible passerby, she laid the boy out in front of her. He scrambled back on the rock, putting some distance between them. His face had gotten significantly whiter since she first saw him, so she figured that in his fear the blood had drained from his face—why else would a human change colour?

She settled onto her belly because the roof was not high enough to accommodate her height and tilted her head to the side, content to watch him with an unblinking gaze.

He was solidly built, dark-skinned, except his face, from working the fields, and his hair was sweaty and greasy from the day's work. His wide brown eyes were nearly the same shade as his short scruffy chocolate locks of hair. He wore a pair of worn out overalls, muddy boots, and a ripped grey tee shirt.

His face was free of time's wear, suggesting to Splitwing that he was a young man of the species inhabiting the planet. Perhaps no more than seventeen or eighteen years?

It felt like an hour, but in reality only five minutes had passed since all had calmed and he at last spoke, "Stop that."

Splitwing blinked. She was unable to vocally reply to him because of her injuries, which left her at a bit of a loss. Then she had an idea. _'Stop what?'_ The bright white words flashed across her electric blue visor quickly, but the boy was still able to catch them.

"Staring. It's bothering me, you're the alien," he swallowed thickly and coughed in his unease. Some colour had returned to his cheeks, but his shoulders still shook a little.

_'So are you.'_

He snorted and enunciated, "On this planet, _you_ are an alien."

She paused, but ultimately agreed with the boy. It also wouldn't do her any favours to argue with him, so she gave him a single nod.

_'You seem calm.'_

He scoffed at her question, "Don't get me wrong, I am completely and utterly terrified on the inside right now. I've read about the theories, but I didn't think any of them were true." The boy cleared his throat and Splitwing watched his hands shake, "What's stopping you from guttin' me right now?"

Splitwing frowned, _'I am an Autobot.'_

He puckered his brow and wrung his hands nervously, "A _what_?"

_'An Autobot.'_

He waved his hand indignantly, "Yeah, I got that, but what _is_ an Autobot?"

_'Good and just. We stand for what is right.'_

The boy raised an eyebrow haphazardly and drawled, "So… you're here because… why, exactly?"

Her shoulders slumped ever-so-slightly. She blinked, her visor winking at the boy, _'Decepticons—'_

"Decepti- _whats_?"

_'-destroyed my home.'_

His jaw fell open, "What?! Oh, man, this is crazy!"

 _'Cybertron is dead.'_

When Cybertron went dark, she knew it was supposed to mean something terrible and crushing like it had for the others, but all she felt was… quiet. The once beautiful planet had only ever been a place of blood and war to her, never truly home. She didn't tell the others of her feelings, because she feared becoming an outcast.

Splitwing didn't like isolation.

The boy took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Okay, so you're a giant living robot from the planet Cybertron – that is now dead – and you're here to… what? _Hunt_ Decepticons? By yourself?"

She shook her head in the negative, _'I must find the other Autobots.'_

"There are _more_ of you here?" He rubbed his face with his hands and took another couple steps back.

_'I will never intentionally hurt you or another human.'_

He read the words through his fingers before dropping hands. "Okay, sure. So, if you're a robot, don't you have some kind of… communication, or a radio?" He asked and put his fists on each side of his head and wiggled his index fingers as if to represent antennae. It appeared as if a crude imitation of her long range scanners that protruded over her audial receptors.

She inwardly scoffed at his gesture, _'All of my com systems were destroyed.'_

He looked confused. "Destroyed?"

 _'In battle.'_ She pointed to her damaged antennae on the side of her head that were no longer straight, but rather bent and torn open. They may not have been very fragile--they were actually just as tough as any of her other armor--but the organs were _very_ sensitive. They hurt.

"Oh…" He breathed and frowned, "so, how do you plan on finding the others?"

She shrugged as best she could in her position and decided the best way to demonstrate to the boy her condition was to show him the footage. She reached out to nudge him aside – she did not miss the way he flinched at her approach – and gently pushed him at the waist.

Once he was out of the way and could not see her face, she retracted her visor for the first time in centuries and activated the footage her optics had recorded.

The scene opened up on the grey rock face, showing Breakdown and his one-mech ship racing towards her. She skipped a few scenes where the particularly gory bits came through, like when he had snapped her sensory radio-wave scanners—her antennae—and shoved his fist into her chest in an attempt to rip out her spark.

Obviously, his attempt failed, as Splitwing had managed to amputate his arm with a well-aimed swing at his elbow with one of her twin swords.

The human gasped and covered his mouth, but never looked away. At the end of the footage, Splitwing presented the holographic image of her Cybertronian jet form in the same shade of blue as her optics, but highlighted her wounded areas with red. Next to the jet, the 3-D image of herself faded in and rotated, showing the according injuries on her bipedal form.

"That's why…" he whispered and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You can't signal them or find 'em because you're too _injured_."

She nodded in accordance and let her visor fall back into place with a sharp _click_.

"Alright then, what is that blue stuff you're leakin'?" He pointed to the energon oozing from the crater in her chest left behind by the 'con as he came around in front of her.

_'Energon.'_

"And energon is…?"

 _'My life-source.'_ The visor cleared as his eyes widened in realization, _'It is my blood.'_

"You're _bleedin'_ to death?" He gestured to her chest as some energon dripped into a puddle on the ground.

_'Fundamentally, yes.'_

He ran his hands through his hair, "Alright, what happens now? Can you… turn into your jet form-thing?"

_'Possibly.'_

"Possibly," he scoffed and rolled his eyes sarcastically, "thank you for your vagueness."

_'You are welcome.'_

He snorted, "Okay. Um… So you expect— _what_ —from me?"

_'Nothing, but I believe without your assistance, I will perish.'_

She watched him think. He drummed his fingers against his chin and crossed his arms. He also began to pace slowly, slapping his boots on the ground loudly. "Uh… Okay, um. I, uh, I don't really know _how_ to help you."

_'Too many of my energon lines have been ruptured. If you could plug the ones visible to you, my systems should accommodate for the rest.'_

The boy gave her a dumb look, "And just how in hell would I do that? What if I touch it? Would it hurt me? Is it like acid?"

Splitwing shrugged. _'I would advise that you wear protective equipment.'_

He scowled at her, "No, _duh_." Her lips twitched in semblance of a smile. "Okay! Fine! Jesus… can't believe I'm doin' this. Alright, I'll help you the best I can, but it ain't gonna be much. First thing's first, you need to be a lot _less conspicuous_ that that!" He gestured at her frame.

_'I can scan another form.'_

He glanced at her visor, "Huh, why don't I doubt that? Oh, yeah, you're an alien."

She shook her head patronizingly as it dropped.

He smacked himself in the forehead and mumbled to himself, " _God_ , I'm talking to an alien robot, in a cave, trying to help it. Her, _her_." He glanced at her again and continued pacing, "Definitely _not_ a dude."

She lifted one eyebrow, but took no offense. Femmes traditionally had extra chest plating to protect their spark chamber should they ever… reproduce; male Cybertronians had spark chambers also, but a femme's was located in the chassis, a mech's down by his tanks. Splitwing scoffed at the thought, there hadn't been a sparkling since, well, before the war. She was one of the younger Cybertronians in existence, but by far not immature.

With the civil unrest that ultimately led to the death of Cybertron, most mechs and femmes decided it was a wise decision to not bring a sparkling into a life such as war. Splitwing agreed.

Thus, her extra plating looked like a human female's breasts.

The boy suddenly stopped and turned sharply on his heel to stare at her, eyes twinkling in brilliance. She gazed back, waiting for him to speak.

"Okay, you'll turn into something human, and I'll try to get you into the airport… There is no chance in hell that my dad will let ya stay in the barn," he trailed off, waiting to see her answer.

She nodded tenderly, careful not to jostle her antennae.

He was getting nervous when her visor flashed. _'What is your name?'_

"Adam, Adam Wingates. I prefer to be called 'Win', too many guys named Adam these days," he shrugged indifferently.

_'Win, are you certain?'_

He hesitated, but then laughed nervously, "No, but why not? I mean, it's not every day that a giant wounded robot lands in my backyard."

Splitwing was elated that she had found an ally in the planet's native species. Had she remained alone, her spark may not have survived the strain of her injuries. The emotional stress of her situation was also beginning to take its toll.

She very gently used her index finger to turn his chin and thus his face towards her visor. This action proved to the boy how deep the sentiment ran in her next words.

_'I am in your debt. Win Wingates, thank you.'_

The brown haired boy smiled humbly, "I'm gonna fix you, I promise."

She smiled softly at him.

"Just don't kill me when this is over, or I will haunt you."

_Eight Months Earlier_

_Autobot Outpost: Omega One_

Ratchet cursed them all. Every last one of them. He threatened them with a wrench, amputation, forced stasis, _Primus help him_ , even to sic the twins on them, but they didn't listen. Oh, Pit, they _never_ listened.

He had given strict _medical_ orders to his leader and old friend, Optimus, to take a day off for a much needed recharge. The Prime's spark could only handle so much strain; granted, it was more than most. He may have been one of the stronger Cybertronians--if not the strongest Autobot--but _Primus_ , he could not work for ten days in a row without one recharge.

Recently a new Decepticon reinforcement had arrived to Earth. Jazz, (the resident saboteur), had been sent on an information retrieval mission. After he infiltrated the Decepticon war ship, the Nemesis, he informed Optimus and the others that the new 'con was Breakdown.

The big blue wrecker had been bragging of his last 'kill', which Jazz was unable to identify. However, Breakdown had described his victim as a "femme seeker"—there hadn't been an active Autobot femme seeker since _Cybertron_.

Optimus had been working endlessly to locate any remaining Autobot seekers, hoping with all hope that the flyer had survived. Ratchet, though, had had enough of the Prime's procrastination. The seeker could wait, Optimus could not.

Earlier that morning the seasoned field medic confirmed his suspicions when he sent a soft seeking ping towards the Autobots' strong leader and never received one back; that he had finally succumbed to a much needed rest.

He warned every 'bot on base that they were not to disturb him, and if he heard of any ruckus happening down the Prime's corridor, he would personally see to their silence.

The next thing he heard, ( _"Of course,"_ he'd mumbled) was the murderous roar of a certain GMC Topkick reverberating through the halls. However, nothing was quite as deadly as the medic's glare as he exited the med-bay and stormed through the corridors in search of the weapons' specialist.

" _Ironhide_!" He barked and lifted a wrench above his helm. The large gunner came to a screeching halt at the end of the hall upon sight of the medic. He raised his arms in defense and backed away quickly from Ratchet.

"Ratchet, it was the twins. They compromised my cleaning solution for my cannons! It itches _horribly_!" He blurted quickly as the ambulance Autobot stormed up to him.

_Clang!_

"Ow!" Ironhide yelped as Ratchet smacked him upside the head with his wrench. The gunner was never happier that there were no humans around at that moment. He despised how Ratchet could turn him into a pleading, begging pile of scrap with a simple _look_ —it was pathetic for his size and reputation.

But the medic was _terrifying_.

"What did I say?" Ratchet hissed menacingly, glaring at Ironhide. His blue optics shone bright and angry, shooting fictional lasers into his face--but they didn't _feel_ fictional.

The black mech shifted ever-so nervously on his feet, "To be quiet in the hallways because Optimus is in recharge."

"Precisely," the medic glowered and ground his denta.

"I'm _sorry_ , but they put some kind of acid in-"

"-oh, I heard you the first time, _but_ , so help you Primus, if you woke him up I'll-"

Ratchet was cut off as the very mech he spoke of sprinted by him, a purple blur as his red and blue paint job mashed together in his haste.

The medic growled at the Topkick ominously and pointed his wrench at him, " _This_ —this isn't over."

Before Ironhide could make a single sound, he turned and raced after his friend, " _Optimus_!"

Both medic and gunner found the Prime typing furiously at the main console, analyzing the screen. Confused and worried looks plagued their features, until Optimus began to speak. "Unknown vessel, this is Autobot Outpost Omega One, identify yourself."

Ratchet quickly stepped up behind the Prime, watching as the strong signal cruised past what he had come to know as Pluto.

Static filled the room, the anticipation of a response raising the tension and anxiety in the room. There was a bubble in the static before it toned down to a steady hum.

_"Autobot Outpost Omega One, this is Communications Officer Cadet Splitwing."_

Everyone frowned. _What?_

An _Autobot femme_ , but not just any femme, it was a _cadet_ femme on the line. Cadets had all either graduated or been offlined in battle all those eons ago, save a select few.

Someone was pulling their legs.

Then again, if both Bumblebee—a sparkling at the time—and Smokescreen survived, it was perhaps not so outlandish that a lost cadet could have survived as well.

Optimus recovered quickly as if he had not been shocked in the least and turned to Ironhide and Ratchet, "Can either of you verify her voice print?"

The gunner shook his head immediately, his optics narrowed in suspicion, "Never worked with a Splitwing, or a cadet."

Ratchet narrowed his eyes, flipping through his medical patient files in search of a 'Splitwing'. After a solid fifteen seconds, he had her.

Centuries ago, he had to re-attach a wing ligament in a young inexperienced seeker who had just returned from their very first training mission.

_"Sit still, femme!" Ratchet had ordered and clamped a firm hand down on the restless seeker's back struts._

_After a moment, she responded with a soft "Yes sir"._

_He rolled his optics and welded the panel back in place, tapping her shoulder plating twice in acknowledgment of his completion, "Take it easy, Splitwing, but you're back in working order."_

_"Thank you, sir," she stood off the medical berth with her optics glued to the floor._

_'Thank you, sir.'_

"Thank you, sir."

"I can verify her voice print, it is indeed Splitwing," Ratchet said after returning to the present.

Optimus gave him a single nod and turned back to the console, "Splitwing, it is good to hear from another comrade."

There was quiet on the line as the message was sent to Splitwing. Then, shortly after, " _It is good to find you. I am currently two megacycles from earth._ "

"We will send landing coordinates," Optimus responded and tapped a few keys.

" _Affirmative, I will make contact when I am close to Earth,_ " she replied and ended the transmission.

Ratchet scowled. A _cadet; it made no sense_. 

_What in the name of Primus was going on?_

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome everyone to the new and improved version of Order Vynyan! I will post chapters as I rewrite and have them edited. Thank you to all that have continued to support me in this endeavor!


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